Found this and some other unfinished ficlets that will eventually find their way here at some point while I was cleaning out the hard drive (it was telling me I have no more space). Enjoy =]

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Logan was close to passing out in front of his computer. He was tired and his eyes hurt from the strain of staring at the screens the entire day. His day had been an exhausting one and as much as he hated fighting with her, Max had baited him into yet another argument in the afternoon which had ended in them shouting things to each other that they otherwise would have never said without the influence of adrenaline and frustration coursing through them. At some point in the next few days he had to apologise to her.

He always wondered if they were mentally connected somehow especially since that dream, and as he heard faint footsteps approaching his end of the hallway outside his door, his mind wandered idly into the 'our minds are linked' zone. He turned the whirring machinery off and as if on cue he heard a soft knock on his door. He instinctively knew it was her; no one else had the daring indecency to visit him at nearly four in the morning.

She was leaning against his wall opposite his doorway with her hair and clothes slightly damp, most likely a result of her trudging in the rain from her quarters to where he was. He noticed the fierce determination in her eyes, not too different from the look she had when she was drafting out contingency plans and attack formations in the hours she spent in the Command Centre. But tonight there were no soldiers in the vicinity, no threat of incoming hostiles, just her, in his doorway, holding a bottle of wine in one hand, two wine glasses dangling from the fingers of her other.

"You were wrong Logan. You're what I'm fighting for."

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End.